HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 


By 
GEORGE  BARR  McCUTCHEON 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright    1911 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  Co. 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 


HER  WEIGHT  IN 
GOLD 

4(TT  7ELL,  the  question  is:  How  much 
*  V  does  she  weigh?"  asked  Eddie 
Ten  Eyck,  with  satirical  good  humor.  His 
rather  flippant  inquiry  followed  the  heated 
remark  of  General  Gamble,  who,  in  desper- 
ation, had  been  led  to  announce  that  his  step- 
daughter was  worth  her  weight  in  gold. 
Young  Mr.  Ten  Eyck's  sarcasm  was  in- 
spired by  a  mind's-eye  picture  of  Martha 
Gamble,  the  girl  involved.  She  was,  bar 
none,  the  homeliest  young  woman  in  Essex. 
To  quote  Joe  Grigsby,  she  was  "so  plain  that 
all  comparisons  began  with  her." 

"I  am  just  jesting,  sir,"  replied  the  gen- 
i 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

eral  with  dignity.  "My  step-daughter  may 
not  be  as  good-looking  as — er — some  others 
but  she  is  a  jewel,  just  the  same.  The  man 
who  gets  her  for  a  wife  will  be  much  luckier 
than  the  chaps  who  marry  these  brainless 
fools  we  see  trotting  around  like  butterflies." 

It  was  the  first  time  Eddie  had  heard  of 
trotting  butterflies. 

"Martha  is  a  fine  girl,"  was  his  safe  re- 
mark. 

"She's  pure  gold,  sir,"  added  her  step- 
father, but  with  no  enthusiasm.  He  was  a 
handsome  man  and  Martha's  ugliness  was  a 
perpetual  nightmare  to  him.  Her  mother 
was  looked  upon  as  a  beautiful  woman. 
That  her  only  child  should  be  so  distress- 
ingly plain  was  a  source  of  wonder  not  only 
to  her  acquaintances  but  to  the  mother  her- 
self. 

Young  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  was  the  most  incon- 
sequent spendthrift  in  town.  He  lived  by 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

his  wits,  with  which  he  was  generously  en- 
dowed. His  spending  money  came  through 
an  allowance  his  grandmother  had  been  gen- 
erous— and  callous — enough  to  provide  for 
him;  but  with  the  custom  of  young  men  of 
his  stamp  he  was  penniless  before  the  quar- 
ter was  half  over.  He  was  precariously  in 
debt  at  all  times.  Trouble  sat  lightly  upon 
his  head,  if  outward  appearances  were  to 
be  credited;  truth  to  tell,  however,  Eddie 
was  in  sore  and  perpetual  distress  over  the 
financial  situation.  What  worried  him  most 
was  the  fact  that  all  signs  pointed  to  the 
suspension  of  further  credit  in  places  where 
he  owed  money,  and,  as  he  owed  without 
discrimination,  the  future  was  not  a  pleas- 
ant state  to  contemplate.  Prudent  mothers 
stood  defiantly  between  him  and  what  might 
have  become  prosperous  marriages.  He 
could  win  the  hearts  of  the  daughters  with 
shameful  regularity,  but  he  could  not  over- 

3 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

come  the  heads  of  the  families  to  which  they 
belonged. 

The  conversation  between  him  and  Gen- 
eral Gamble  took  place  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  Essex  Club.  There  was  a  small  table 
between  them  and  there  were  highballs  in 
passage. 

"What's  the  market  price  of  gold  to-day, 
General?"  Eddie  asked,  with  genial  impu- 
dence. 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  more  interested 
in  copper,"  retorted  the  general.  "You 
seldom  have  anything  but  pennies." 

"That's  no  joke,"  agreed  Eddie  easily. 
"I  was  just  on  the  point  of  asking  a  little 
favor  of  you — for  a  week  or  two,  General." 

"I  can't  do  it,  Eddie.  You  never  pay. 
Here,  boy!  Some  more  ice  and  that  same 
bottle.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  I  don't  see 
why  you  fellows  are  so  blind  to  Martha's 
charms.  She's — " 

4 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"You  are  mistaken,  General,"  said  Eddie, 
resenting  his  failure.  "We  are  not  blind. 
That's  the  trouble.  If  a  blind  man  were  to 
come  along  I've  no  doubt  he'd  see  something 
in  her." 

"Demme,  if  she  were  my  own  daughter, 
I'd  thrash  you  for  that,  sir!" 

"If  she  were  your  own  daughter  you 
wouldn't  be  proud  enough  to  take  an  in- 
sult." 

The  general  frowned. 

"Eddie,  I'd  give  a  good  deal  to  see  that 
girl  married.  She's  so  poor  to  look  at  that 
I  can't  stand  it  much  longer.  It's  got  on 
my  nerves  terribly.  Leave  that  bottle  here, 
boy.  Why,  I'd  be  willing  to  marry  her  to 
anybody.  She'll  have  money — a  lot  of  it — 
some  day.  I  say,  why  don't  you — By  Jove, 
I  never  thought  of  you!  You  need  money 
— a  lot  of  it,  too — .  You  wouldn't  be  per- 
mitted to  marry  any  other  girl  in  town,  and, 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

what's  more,  you  couldn't  get  a  truer  wife 
than  Martha.     You — " 

"She  couldn't  help  being  true,"  mused  Ed- 
die Ten  Eyck,  rattling  the  ice  in  his  glass 
until  the  General  shoved  the  bottle  across. 

"That  girl  is  worth  her  weight  in  gold, 
let  us  repeat.  She's  a  bit  older  than  you, 
I'll  admit,  but—" 

"But,  General,  I'm  not  blind,"  cried  Ed- 
die. "I'm  poor,  heaven  knows,  but  I'm  not 
blind.  I  don't  have  to  be  led." 

"She  likes  you,  too,  Eddie,"  went  on  the 
general,  revelling  in  a  fond  hope.  "She'll 
be  the  richest  girl  in  the  town  when  I  die." 

"In  a  case  like  this,  General,  you'd  never 
die.  No,  I  thank  you.  I  decline  the  honor 
gently  but  firmly.  If  you  could  turn  her 
into  real  gold  I  might  take  her,  but — let  me 
see,  she  weighs  about  one  seventy,  doesn't 
she?  I  say,  that  would  make  quite  a  pile  of 
gold,  wouldn't  it?" 

6 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

The  general  was  silent  for  a  long  time, 
permitting  a  vague  idea  to  form  and  develop 
in  his  mind.  Young  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  was 
moodily  trying  to  approximate  the  value  of 
one  hundred  and  seventy  pounds  of  pure 
gold. 

"I — er — ahem — suppose  you  haven't  heard 
of  the  wedding  present  I  intend  to  make  to 
the  man  who  wins  her,"  began  the  general 
slowly,  ready  to  cast  the  die. 

"A  separate  house  and  lot  wouldn't  be 
bad,"  suggested  Eddie.  • 

"Nonsense.  Well,  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  but  I 
don't  want  it  to  go  any  further.  If  some 
of  these  confounded  rakes  heard  of  it,  they'd 
pester  the  poor  girl  to  death.  This  is  to 
prove  to  you  how  dear  she  is  to  me.  On  her 
wedding  day  the  man  who  marries  her  is 
to  have  the  equivalent  of  her  weight  in 
gold." 

He  paused  to  let  the  proposition  sink 
7 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

firmly  into  the  Ten  Eyck  soil.  Eddie's  eyes 
blinked  incredulously. 

''Great!"  he  said  at  last,  and  that  was  all. 

"Well,  I  must  be  going,"  observed  the 
wily  general,  beating  a  retreat  so  hastily 
that  Eddie  had  no  chance  to  scoff. 

Several  days  passed  before  the  two  met 
again.  The  General  had  sowed  wisely,  but 
he  did  not  know  how  bitterly  Eddie  Ten 
Eyck  was  contemplating  the  harvest.  At 
first  he  had  given  the  matter  no  considera- 
tion. As  time  went  on,  however,  he  caught 
himself  many  times — with  a  start — trying 
to  approximate  the  worth  of  Martha  Gam- 
ble on  the  basis  set  down  by  her  step-father. 
The  second  day  found  him  surreptitiously 
making  inquiries  of  a  jeweler  concerning  the 
value  of  24-carat  gold.  His  creditors  were 
threatening  to  sue  or  "black-list"  him;  his 
friends  already  were  beginning  to  dodge  him 
in  the  fear  of  requests  for  loans;  his  allow- 

8 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ance  was  not  due  for  seven  weeks.  Alto- 
gether the  world  looked  harsh  and  untidy  to 
him.  Somehow  this  ertswhile  debonnair 
young  man  felt  himself  being  dragged  to 
earth,  and  he  instinctively  longed  for  some- 
thing with  which  to  shield  himself  from  the 
blows  of  adversity.  He  was,  therefore,  de- 
serving of  commiseration  when  he  finally 
surrendered  to  the  subtle  assault  of  the  old 
campaigner.  He  deliberately  sought  out  the 
general,  after  many  mathematical  hours, 
determined  to  have  a  try  at  the  proposition, 
distasteful  as  it  seemed.  How  he  cursed 
himself  and  his  creditors! 

The  general  was  reading  in  a  quiet 
nook  of  the  club.  He  watched  Eddie's  in- 
different approach  and  chuckled  inwardly. 
Something  told  him  that  at  last  he  was  to 
lose  Martha.  Eddie,  having  fully  decided 
on  his  own  fate  and  knowing  quite  well  that 
he  was  destined  as  the  sacrifice  from  the 

9 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

very  first,  was  courageous  enough  to  broach 
the  subject  without  preliminaries. 

"Hello,  General,"  he  said,  dropping  into 
the  next  chair.  "I've  been  thinking  over 
what  you  said  about  Martha.  Well,  I'll 
marry  her." 

"You!"  exclaimed  the  general  with  a  fine 
show  of  surprise.  "You?" 

"I've  thought  it  over.  How  much  does 
she  weigh?" 

"Are  you  in  earnest,  my  boy?"  cried  the 
general,  squirming  with  suppressed  joy. 
"She'll  be  tickled  to  death." 

"Then,  don't  tell  her  till  after  the  wed- 
ding," cried  Eddie  quickly.  "Break  it  to 
her  gently,  General,  I  should  say.  Can  I 
have  her?" 

"Yes,  and  God  bless  you!"  slapping  him 
on  the  back. 

"Do  you  mean  bless,  or  help?     I  suppose 
I  ought  to  say  I  love  her,"  doubtfully. 
10 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"You  can  say  that  to  her.  Please  don't 
say  it  to  me.  You  two  young  folks  can  set- 
tle that  in  a  quiet  nook  at  home.  Will  you 
be  around  this  evening?" 

"If — er — she  hasn't  another  engagement," 
with  a  gulp. 

"Engagement?"  snorted  the  general. 
"She  hasn't  been  up  after  eight  o'clock  in 
four  years.  You  won't  be  disturbed,  so 
come  around." 

"I'd  better  come  to  dinner  if  I  expect  to 
find  her  up." 

"By  all  means.  Stay  as  late  as  you  like, 
though.  She  won't  get  sleepy — not  a  bit  of 
it."  The  general  arose  to  go. 

"Hold  on,  General!  WVve  got  a  few 
preliminaries  to  settle  before  I  venture 
around  where  my  heart's  desire  is  waiting. 
Here's  a  paper  for  you  to  sign.  It's  busi- 
ness, you  know — the  first  really  business-like 
thing  I've  ever  done.  Read  it." 
II 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

The  general  read  the  brief  but  definite 
contract  which  bound  him  to  pay  to  Edward 
Ten  Eyck,  in  gold  coin  or  currency,  on  the 
day  that  he  married  Martha  Gamble,  an 
amount  equivalent  to  the  value  of  her  weight 
in  pure  gold.  He  hesitated  for  one  brief, 
dubious  moment  and  then  called  for  pen,  ink 
and  paper.  When  they  were  brought  to 
him  he  deliberately  wrote  a  second  contract 
by  which  Edward  Ten  Eyck  bound  himself 
to  marry  Martha  Gamble  and  no  other  on  a 
day  to  be  "hereinafter  named." 

"Now,"  said  the  general,  "we'll  each  sign 
one.  You  don't  get  the  better  of  me." 

Each  signed  his  paper  in  the  presence  of 
two  waiters,  neither  of  whom  knew  the  na- 
ture of  the  documents  to  which  they  attested. 

"Troy  weight,"  .suggested  the  general. 
"She's  a  jewel,  you  know." 

"Certainly.  It's  stipulated  in  the  article 
— 24-carat  gold.  You  said  pure,  you  know. 

12 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

We'll  use  troy  weight  for  her  avoirdupois. 
You  notice  I've  inserted  a  clause  that  the 
prevailing  market  price  of  gold  be  paid. 
Four  cents  a  carat.  Twenty-four  carats  in 
a  pennyweight,  that  makes  ninety-six  cents 
per  pennyweight.  Twenty  pennyweights  in 
an  ounce,  and  there  we  have  $19.20  per 
ounce.  We'll  weigh  her  in  by  ounces." 

"That's  reasonable.  The  price  of  gold 
won't  fluctuate  much,  I  fancy." 

"I  want  it  distinctly  understood  that  you 
keep  her  well  fed  from  this  day  on.  I  don't 
want  her  to  fluctuate.  She  hasn't  any  silly 
notions  about  reducing  her  weight,  has 
she?" 

"My  dear  sir,  she  poses  as  a  Venus," 
cried  the  general  enthusiastically. 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?"  cried  Eddie,  mop- 
ping his  brow. 

"Well,  she's  thirty-three,  my  boy. 
They're  all  silly  at  that  age.  For  heaven's 
13 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

sake,  let  her  cherish  some  of  the  vanities  of 
life." 

"Good!  And — oh,  yes,  here's  another 
point  I  almost  forgot  to  mention.  Pardon 
me  for  suggesting  it,  but,  of  course,  you'll 
understand  that  she  should  be  weighed  with 
— er — that  is,  her  clothing  should  be  weighed 
with  her." 

"What's  that?" 

"It's  just  to  settle  the  point,  General. 
Dressed  or  undressed?" 

"Good  Lord,  she  isn't  a  chicken!" 

"Nobody  said  she  was.  You  know  what 
I  mean.  As  gentlemen,  we  need  not  pur- 
sue the  point  further.  It  is  fit  and  proper 
that  her  clothes  should  be  weighed  with  her. 
Hang  it  all,  man,  I'm  marrying  her  clothes 
as  much  as  anything  else." 

"No,  sir;  I  won't  agree  to  that.  She's 
got  a  pair  of  scales  in  her  bedroom.  She 
weighs  herself  every  night  for  her  own  grat- 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ification.  I  don't  see  why  she  can't  do  it 
once  or  twice  for  my  sake." 

"Yes,  but  women  are  such  awful  liars 
about  their  weight.  We  couldn't  trust 
her." 

"Remember,  sir,  you  are  speaking  of  your 
future  wife.  You'll  have  to  take  her  word 
for  it." 

"By  George,  you're  niggardly,"  protested 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck.  He  was  silent  for  a  long 
time.  "I  say,  it  would  be  a  frightful  dis- 
appointment to  you  if  she'd  refuse  me  to- 
night." 

"She  won't!"  said  the  general,  setting 
his  jaw.  "She'll  jump  at  the  chance." 

Eddie  sighed  miserably:  "Doesn't  it 
really  seem  awful  to  you?" 

"Having  you  for  a  son-in-law?     Yes." 

"You  know  I'm  only  doing  this  because 
I  want  to  go  into  business  and  I  need  the 
money,"  explained  Eddie  in  an  effort  to 
15 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

justify  himself  before  the  general.  "Oh, 
yes!  Another  thing  I'd  almost  forgotten. 
I  suppose  it  will  be  all  right  for  us  to  live 
with  you  for  a  year  or  two,  until — " 

"Not  at  all!"  gasped  the  general,  leap- 
ing to  his  feet  in  consternation.  "You  go 
to  housekeeping  at  once.  Understand?" 

"But  her  poor  mother  may — " 

"Her  mother  has  nothing  to  say  about  it. 
Look  here;  we'll  put  that  point  in  the  con- 
tract, too."  He  turned  pale  at  the  mere 
thought  of  what  the  oversight  might  have 
cost  him.  "And  now,  when  shall  we  have 
the  wedding?" 

"Well,  of  course,  I  need  the  money — I 
mean,  hadn't  we  better  leave  that  to  Martha? 
She'll  want  a  trousseau  and  all  that  and — 
Oh,  well,  I  might  as  well  get  it  over  with 
right  away.  So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  this 
week.  But  you  know  how  finnicky  girls  are 
about  such  things." 

16 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"Yes,"  reminiscently,  "I  daresay  they  do 
want  a  few  weeks  of  courtship."  Eddie 
gulped  painfully  and  turned  a  hunted  gaze 
toward  the  door  leading  to  the  buffet. 
"Have  a  drink?"  asked  the  general  quickly. 
He  had  interpreted  the  glance  in  time. 

They  strolled  into  the  buffet,  one  loving 
the  world  in  general,  the  other  hating  every- 
thing in  it,  including  the  general.  Before 
they  parted,  Eddie  Ten  Eyck  extracted  a 
promise  from  his  future  step-father-in-law 
that  he  would  ask  Martha  her  exact  weight 
and  report  the  figures  to  him  early  the  next 
day. 

"I  want  to  figure  on  just  about  how  much 
to  expect,"  said  Eddie.  "It  will  seem 
easier." 

That  very  afternoon  the  general,  some- 
what distressed  by  a  guilty  conscience,  re- 
quested his  step-daughter  to  report  her 
correct  weight  to  him  on  the  following  morn- 
17 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ing.  He  kept  his  face  well  behind  his  news- 
paper while  making  the  request. 

"What  for,  Father?"  asked  Martha,  look- 
ing up  from  her  book  in  surprise.  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  grow  as  large  as  the  lenses  of  her 
spectacles. 

"Why,  you  see — er — I'm  figuring  on  some 
more  insurance,"  he  stammered,  angry  with 
himself. 

"What  has  my  weight  to  do  with  it?" 

"It  isn't  life  insurance,"  he  fumbled. 
Then  a  bright  thought  struck  him.  "It's 
fire  insurance,  my  dear." 

"I  don't  see  what  my — " 

"Of  course,  you  don't,"  he  interrupted 
genially.  "The  fire  insurance  companies 
are  getting  very  particular.  They  have  to 
know  the  weight  of  every  inmate  in  the 
house  insured.  Your  mother  and  I — and 
the  servants,  too,  expect  to  be — er — to  be 
weighed  to-night.  By  the  way,  what  have 

18 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

you  been  doing  to  that  fine  young  chap, 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck?" 

"Doing?  I  haven't  seen  him  in  months," 
sniffed  Martha.  Her  voice  !was  raucous. 
She  shuffled  uneasily  in  her  chair. 

"You've  been  doing  something  behind  my 
back,  you  sly  minx,"  he  chided.  "Why, 
what  do  you  think  happened  to-day?" 

"To  Mr.  Ten  Eyck?" 

"Yes — in  a  way.     He  came  to  the  club 
and  asked  my  permission  to  pay  court  to 
you.     He  said  he  loved  you  better  than— 
Look     out,     there!     What  .  the     dev — Hi, 
Mother !     Good  Lord,  she's  going  to  die !" 

Poor  Martha  had  collapsed  limply  in  her 
chair,  her  arms  dangling  at  her  sides,  her 
eyes  bulging  and  blinking.  At  first  glance 
she  appeared  to  be  choking  to  death. 

Afterwards  the  general  admitted  that  he 
was  an  unmitigated  idiot  for  giving  her  such 
a  shock. 

19 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Mrs.  Gamble  rushed  downstairs  in  alarm 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  had  Martha 
breathing  naturally;  the  whirligig  library 
reduced  itself  into  the  same  old  rows  of  sta- 
tionary shelves,  not  as  monotonous  as  before 
perhaps,  but  just  as  staid.  Poor  Martha 
was  hysterical  for  a  long  time.  It  was  with 
difficulty  that  her  mother  induced  her  to 
rush  off  and  dress  for  dinner.  For  the  first 
time  since  early  childhood,  Martha  blushed 
as  she  attempted  to  trip  lightly  upstairs.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  she  did  trip  on  the  third 
step  from  the  top.  The  fires  of  life  had  been 
rekindled.  At  four  o'clock  she  began  dress- 
ing for  the  coming  suitor;  when  he  arrived 
at  seven  she  was  still  trying  to  determine 
just  where  to  put  the  finishing  touches. 

Eddie  Ten  Eyck  sat  in  the  huge  library, 
disconsolate,  nervous,  dreading  the  immedi- 
ate future.  He  looked  about  him  in  awed 
silence.  Never,  in  all  his  confident,  butterfly 
20 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

existence,  had  he  felt  so  small  and  powerless 
as  at  this  very  moment.  His  eyes  swept  the 
library  and  tried  to  penetrate  to  the  sacred 
precincts  upstairs,  searching  all  the  while  for 
succoring  possibilities.  Even  the  richness 
and  beauty  of  the  Gamble  mansion  failed 
to  reimburse  his  fancy  for  the  losses  it  was 
sustaining  with  each  succeeding  minute  of 
suspense.  Dimly  he  recalled  that  General 
Gamble  had  spent  almost  half  a  million  dol- 
lars on  the  house  and  grounds;  his  library 
was  worth  more  than  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  his  stable  contained  the  finest  horses 
in  the  country;  his  landed  estate  was  meas- 
ured by  section  instead  of  acre;  his  bank 
stock  and  bonds  were — but  shoving  all  of 
these  feeble  assets  into  the  background  was 
the  ever  present,  overpowering  question  of 
human  weight. 

By  this  time  Eddie  had  become  so  pro- 
ficient in  rapid  calculating  that  he  could  tell 
21 


within  a  few  ounces  how  much  a  person 
would  have  to  weigh  in  order  to  be  worth 
as  much  as  the  library  or  the  mansion  or  the 
bonds.  The  great  painting  that  hung  in 
the  west  end  of  the  room,  if  reports  were  true 
regarding  the  price  paid  for  it,  corresponded 
in  value  to  a  woman  weighing  a  shade  more 
than  203  pounds  troy.  He  lifted  a  fine 
bronze  figure  from  the  library  table  and  mur- 
mured :  "It's  worth  as  much  as  a  ten-pound 
baby — twenty-two  hundred  dollars." 

The  general  came  in  and  was  closely  fol- 
lowed by  the  butler,  who  bore  a  tray  with 
at  least  ten  cocktails.  After  the  greetings, 
Eddie  glanced  askance  at  the  cocktails,  dis- 
may in  his  face. 

"Is — is  it  to  be  a  big  dinner  party,  Gen- 
eral?" he  asked  ruefully. 

"Oh,  no;  just  the  family — we  four.  The 
women  don't  drink,  Eddie.  Help  yourself." 
22 


Eddie  gratefully  swallowed  three  in  quick 
succession. 

"It  will  be  absolutely  necessary  to  take  the 
gold  cure  if  I  drink  all  of  these,"  he  muttered 
thankfully. 

Martha  appeared  at  seven-thirty.  Mr. 
Ten  Eyck,  who  was  a  good-looking  chap  and 
fastidious,  did  not  have  the  strength  of  pur- 
pose to  keep  his  heart  anywhere  near  the 
customary  level.  It  went  rioting  to  his  very 
boots.  He  shook  hands  with  the  blushing 
young  woman  and  then  shrank  toward  the 
cocktails.  She  was  attired  for  the  occasion. 
But,  as  it  was  not  the  costume  he  had  to 
marry,  we  will  not  attempt  to  describe  it  in 
detail.  It  was  pink,  of  course;  cut  low,  to 
protect. her  face  from  the  impudent  gaze  of 
men.  Her  face?  Picture  the  usual  hero- 
ine's face  and  then  think  of  the  most  per- 
fect contrast. 

23 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Martha  was  squat.  Her  shoulders  sloped 
both  sidewise  and  downward.  Her  hair 
was  tawny.  Of  her  countenance,  the  most 
noticeable  feature  was  a  very  broad  flat  nose ; 
then  came  a  comparatively  chinless  under- 
jaw,  on  which  grew  an  accidental  wisp  of 
hair;  a  narrower  upper  lip  which  nourished 
a  growth  that  would  have  done  excellent 
credit  to  a  sophomore.  When  she  smiled — 
well,  it  was  discouraging,  to  say  the  least. 
Her  eyes  were  pale  and  prominent. 

Practice  might  have  made  her  rouging 
perfect  in  spite  of  all  this,  but  she  had  had 
no  practice.  Young  men  never  came  to 
the  house,  and  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
keep  up  appearances  for  those  who  doddered 
at  the  end  of  the  way. 

The  dinner  was  a  genial  one,  after  all.     In 

lucid  moments,  when  the  cocktails  were  idle, 

Eddie  sagely  remarked  to  himself:     "If  I 

can  drink  enough  of  them  I'll  have  delirium 

24 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

tremens  and  then  I  won't  have  to  believe 
what  I  see."  Martha  always  had  called  him 
Eddie.  To-night  he  observed,  with  hazy 
interest,  that  she  addressed  him  as  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck — and  frequently,  at  that.  It  was  "Do 
you  really  think  so,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck,"  or  "How 
very  amusing,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck,"  or  "Goodness 
gracious,  Mr.  Ten  Eyck,"  until  poor  Eddie 
came  to  the  point  where  he  muttered 
"damned  fool"  so  audibly  that  the  general 
coughed  to  cover  his  guest's  quick  retreat 
into  something  less  appropriate  but  more 
commonplace. 

After  dinner  the  general  and  Mrs.  Gamble 
retired  early,  leaving  the  young  people  alone. 
Eddie  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh  of  decision 
and  crossed  the  room  bravely.  Martha  was 
sitting  on  the  davenport.  He  saw  with  mis- 
giving that  she  evidently  expected  something 
from  him.  Her  eyes  were  downcast  and 
she  nervously  toyed  with  the  gold  chain  that 
25 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

hung  from  her  neck.  He  stood  silent  for  a 
long  time.  Then,  as  he  sat  down  at  the 
opposite  end  of  the  couch,  she  heard  him 
mutter  something  indistinctly  about  "one 
hundred  and  seventy,  at  least." 

"Oh,  then,  you're  still  playing  golf,  Mr. 
Ten  Eyck?"  she  asked.  "So  many  people 
have  given  it  up  because — " 

"Golf?     What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"I  thought  you  said  something  about  your 
score.  Didn't  you?" 

"Say,  Martha,"  he  said,  setting  his  jaw, 
"I'm  a  man  of  few  words.  Will  you  marry 
me?  Oh!  Ouch!  Don't  jump  at  me  like 
that!" 

The  details  are  painful.  It  is  only  nec- 
essary to  say  that  she  told  him  she  had  loved 
him  since  childhood  and  he,  on  the  other 
hand,  confessed  that  he  had  but  recently 
learned  her  true  worth  and  just  what  she 
meant  to  him.  She  set  the  wedding  day 
26 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

seven  weeks  off — November  the  eleventh. 
Before  leaving — she  kept  him  until  nearly 
twelve — he  playfully  came  up  behind  her  as 
she  stood  near  the  table,  and,  placing  his 
hands  under  her  elbows,  asked  her  to  "hold 
'em  stiff  now."  Tlren  he  tried  to  lift  her 
from  her  position.  He  could  not  move  her 
from  the  floor. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said  jubilantly — and 
would  not  explain. 

That  night  in  his  dreams  an  elephant  came 
along  and  stood  on  his  chest,  but  he  was 
used  to  it  and  smiled  in  his  sleep. 

The  next  morning  General  Gamble  re- 
ported by  'phone  that  Martha  weighed  168 
pounds  and  nine  ounces.  The  next  minute 
Eddie  was  at  his  desk,  calculating.  On  the 
23rd  of  September  she  weighed  2,025  ounces, 
troy.  At  $19.20  an  ounce,  she  was  worth 
$38,880.  With  any  sort  of  luck,  he  reflected, 
she  would  gain  with  the  new-found  happi- 
27 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ness,  and  on  the  day  of  the  wedding  should 
represent  at  least  $40,000 — perhaps  more. 

He  haunted  the  country  clubs  by  day, 
always  preoccupied  and  figuring,  much  to 
the  amazement  of  his  friends.  As  the  days 
of  the  first  week  went  by  he  made  definite 
promises  to  all  his  creditors  to  settle  in  six 
weeks.  Moreover,  he  set  apart  $10,000  in 
his  calculations  for  the  purchase  of  a  house 
and  lot.  Early  in  the  second  week  he  had 
practically  expended  $15,000  of  what  he  was 
expecting. 

He  called  on  the  Gambles  regularly,  faith- 
fully. It  is  true  that  he  insisted  on  Martha's 
playing  the  piano  nearly  all  the  time,  but 
otherwise  it  was  a  courtship.  When  the  en- 
gagement was  announced,  the  city — not 
knowing  the  plans  of  the  two  men  most 
vitally  interested — went  into  convulsions. 
The  half  dozen  old  maids  in  upper  social 
circles  perked  up  at  once  and  began  to  tor- 
28 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

ture  themselves  with  hope.  Eddie  Ten 
Eyck's  credit  was  so  good  that  he  succeeded 
in  borrowing  almost  $5,000  from  erstwhile 
skeptics. 

One  day  the  general  met  him  downstreet. 
The  old  soldier  wore  a  troubled  look. 

"She's  sick,"  said  he,  without  prelimi- 
naries. "Got  pains  all  over,  and  has  chills, 
too." 

"Is  it  serious?"  demanded  Eddie. 

"I  don't  know.  Neither  does  the  doctor. 
She's  in  bed,  however." 

"General,  she  must  not  die,"  said  Mr.  Ten 
Eyck,  eyeing  him  a  trifle  wildly.  "I — I 
couldn't  afford  it  now." 

In  two  days  it  was  known  all  over  town 
that  Martha  Gamble  was  down  with  typhoid 
fever  in  malignant  form.  After  the  doctor 
had  left  the  house,  the  general  and  Eddie 
sat  in  the  library,  woe-begone  and  disheart- 
ened. 

29 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"He  says  he  can  pull  her  through,"  said 
the  general  vaguely. 

"Curse  him,  he's  got  to  do  it,"  groaned 
Eddie.  "Say,  why  can't  we  set  the  wedding 
ahead?  I'll  marry  her  to-day." 

"No,  you  don't.  We  stick  to  the  original 
bargain." 

"But  if  she  dies,  where  do  I  get  off?  It 
isn't  fair  to  me,  General  Gamble.  You  know 
it  isn't,"  wailed  Eddie  Ten  Eyck. 

"All's  fair  in  love,  my  boy,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, brightening  up.  "Martha  wasn't  able 
to  stand  the  excitement.  It's  like  a  sudden 
and  terrible  change  in  the  weather.  Her 
constitution  wasn't  equal  to  it,  I'm  afraid. 
WTe  ought  to  make  allowances  for  her,  my 
boy." 

"Is   this   doctor   any  good?     Why  don't 

you  get  some  one  from  New  York?     And 

nurses?     Have  you  got  'em?     Everything 

depends  on  good  nursing.     General,  I'm — 

30 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

/ 

I'm  going-  to  begin  praying  every  night.  I 
used  to." 

The  days  went  by  with  monotonous  sim- 
ilarity. Bright  or  dark,  wet  or  dry,  they 
looked  the  same  to  Eddie  Ten  Eyck.  He 
haunted  the  Gamble  mansion ;  he  waylaid  the 
doctor ;  he  bribed  and  coerced  the  two  nurses ; 
he  drank  the  General's  liquors.  At  first  he 
had  been  permitted  to  see  her.  As  the  dis- 
ease grew  more  virulent  and  she  became  de- 
lirious, he  was  barred  out.  Mrs.  Gamble 
was  touched  by  the  devotedness  of  her 
daughter's  fiance.  (It  may  be  well  to  say 
that  Mrs.  Gamble  did  not  know  and  never 
was  to  know  that  a  contract  had  been  en- 
tered into  by  the  two  men.)  While  Martha 
hung  between  life  and  death,  the  poor 
mother  turned  prayerfully  to  Eddie  Ten 
Eyck  and  gave  him  a  large  share  of  her  pity 
and  consolation. 

The  wedding  day  was  near  at  hand  when 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

a  complication  set  in  and  Martha's  case 
seemed  hopeless.  The  doctors  in  consulta- 
tion said  she  could  not  live.  One  of  the 
nurses  confided  to  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  that  there 
was  no  hope;  the  crises  was  expected  on  the 
eighth.  If  she  passed  over  it  safely,  there 
was  a  chance.  Whereupon  Eddie  implored 
Providence  and  the  fates  to  interfere  with 
the  inevitable  until  after  the  eleventh. 

The  night  of  the  eighth  was  a  memorable 
one  in  the  Gamble  mansion.  No  one  went 
to  bed.  The  ninth  came  and  passed  and  the 
doctors  ventured  forth  with  the  news  that 
the  patient  had  passed  the  crisis  and  that 
there  was  every  chance  in  the  world  that  she 
would  recover.  Eddie  did  a  dance  of  joy 
in  the  stables. 

One  point  was  urged  and  insisted  upon 
by  the  doctors:  Miss  Gamble,  when  she 
emerged  from  the  delirium,  was  not  to  be 
crossed  in  any  way. 

32 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

On  the  eleventh  at  noon  she  aroused  from 
sweet  lassitude  to  ask  if  it  were  not  her  wed- 
ding day.  Learning  that  it  was,  she  insisted 
upon  having  the  ceremony  performed,  be- 
lieving postponement  would  bring  bad  luck. 

While  the  nurses  were  preparing  her  for 
the  ceremony,  General  Gamble  sent  in  word 
that  the  doctors  desired  her  correct  weight — 
for  scientific  purposes.  The  patient  was 
allowed  to  rest  on  the  scales  long  enough  to 
determine  that  she  weighed  seventy-three 
pounds  and  eight  ounces,  and  then  she  was 
hustled  back  into  bed.  The  general,  in 
the  privacy  of  his .  bedroom,  reduced  the 
pounds  to  ounces  and  found  that  she  weighed 
884  ounces.  That  meant  $16,972.80  in  gold. 
He  chuckled  with  glee. 

Her  sickness  had  cost  him  approximately 
$1,800  in  doctors'  bills,  etc.,  but  it  had  cost 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck  $21,911.20  in  pure  gold. 

It   is    said   that   the   bridegroom    almost 

33 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

swooned  when  he  looked  for  the  first  time 
upon  his  emaciated  -fiance.  He  had  not 
counted  on  the  ravages  of  disease.  She  was 
"skin  and  bones."  He  made  the  responses 
mechanically,  as  if  paralyzed  by  the  condi- 
tions. Her  fingers  felt  like  a  closed  fan  in 
his  pulseless  hand.  Dumbly  he  gazed  upon 
her,  answering  "I  do"  and  "I  will"  without 
knowing  it,  all  the  time  trying  to  remember 
where  he  had  seen  her  before.  Away  back 
in  the  forgotten  ages  he  seemed  to  have  seen 
a  robust,  squat  figure,  but — this  creature? 
His  senses  were  inadequate. 

He  was  being  married  to  an  utter 
stranger ! 

And  now  to  hurry  over  the  ensuing 
months.  Of  course,  Martha  got  well  and 
strong;  the  days  of  convalescence  are  inter- 
esting only  to  the  one  who  has  escaped  from 
suffering,  so  why  dwell  on  them  in  this  nar- 
rative ?  Why  dawdle  over  the  reflections  of 
34 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

Eddie  Ten  Eyck  as  he  saw  the  frail  stranger 
mysteriously  transforming  herself  into  an 
old  acquaintance  before  his  very  eyes  ?  Why 
relate  the  details  attending  the  stealthy  pay- 
ment of  almost  $17,000  in  currency,  and  why 
tell  of  the  uses  to  which  the  recipient  was 
compelled  to  put  this  small  fortune  almost 
immediately  after  receiving  it?  No  one 
cares  to  know  these  miserable,  mawkish  de- 
tails. One  only  needs  to  know  that  the 
bridegroom  soon  stood  shorn  of  his  ill-gotten 
gains — with  the  possible  exception  of  a 
bride. 

A  month  after  the  wedding,  Eddie  was 
eagerly  awaiting  the  third  quarterly  install- 
ment of  his  allowance.  He  was  out  of  debt, 
it  is  true,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  would  stay  out — at  least,  until  General 
Gamble  began  to  show  signs  of  decrepitude. 

As  soon  as  Martha  was  strong  enough  to 
be  moved,  the  general  suggested  a  trip  to 
35 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

the  far  South.  Eddie  objected  for  reasons 
peculiarly  his  own.  He  announced  that  his 
real  estate  business  was  such  that  he  could 
not  get  away  at  that  time. 

"Your  real  estate  business?"  exclaimed 
the  general.  "I  didn't  know  you  had  a  busi- 
ness." 

"I'm  dickering  for  the  purchase  of  a  piece 
of  land  in  the  Rocky  Mountains,"  said  Eddie 
grimly. 

"Great  Scott!     Is  it  a  good  investment?" 

"It's  a  darned  sight  better  than  any  I've 
made.  I'm  going  out  there  some  day  and 
dig  for  gold." 

Fortunately  everybody  in  Essex  gave  a 
wedding  present  to  the  bride  and  groom. 
No  one  had  the  heart  to  remain  indifferent 
to  such  an  event.  The  new  home  was  hand- 
somely furnished  and  equipped  by  the  time 
Mrs.  Ten  Eyck  was  ready  to  take  possession. 
The  groom,  whose  sense  of  humor  was 

36 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

dulled  only  for  the  time  being,  observed  the 
beginning  of  its  restoration  when  he  assisted 
in  unpacking  four  cheval  glasses,  gifts  to 
the  bride  from  persons  who  could  not  have 
been  in  collusion. 

The  glow  of  health  increased  in  Martha's 
face.  Her  hair  was  a  trifle  slow  in  renew- 
ing itself,  but  on  the  other  hand,  her  figure 
resumed  its  natural  proportions  with  a  rapid- 
ity that  could  not  go  unnoticed.  It  was  not 
long  before  her  figure  was  unquestionably 
her  own.  Mr.  Ten  Eyck  tried  to  conceal  his 
dismay;  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  begin 
drowning  it.  Their  first  quarrel  resulted 
from  her  objection  to  the  presence  of  intoxi- 
cating liquors  in  the  house. 

"I  don't  approve  of  whisky,"  she  said 
firmly. 

"I  trust,  then,  that  you  never  may  feel 
the  necessity  for  drinking  it,"  said  he. 

"Of  course,  I  shan't.     I've  always  main- 

37 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

tained  that  it  should  be  used  for  medicinal 
purposes  only." 

"I'm  taking  my  medicine.  Don't  find 
fault,"  he  said  with  scant  courtesy.  "I've 
ordered  a  barrel  of  it." 

"You — you  don't  feel  as  though  you  were 
going  to  be  ill,  do  you,  dear?"  she  asked 
anxiously.  He  moved  hastily  to  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  table,  involuntarily  lifting  his 
elbow  as  if  to  shield  himself.  Then  he 
laughed  awkwardly  and  turned  the  subject. 

One  day  he  woke  to  the  startling  truth 
that  she  was  getting  heavier  than  ever  be- 
fore. It  required  days  of  contemplation  and 
development  of  purpose  before  he  could  ask 
her  to  step  on  the  scales  at  the  meat  market. 
A  cold  perspiration  started  to  his  forehead 
as  he  moved  the  balance  along  the  bar  and 
found  that  it  was  necessary  to  use  the  200- 
pound  weight  instead  of  the  lighter  one. 
She  weighed  203  pounds.  His  knees  grew 

38 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

weak  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  released 
the  balance  weight.  Then  he  excused  him- 
self and  bolted  posthaste  for  the  Essex  Club. 
At  9  o'clock  that  night  someone  took  him 
home  and  Martha  had  hysterics  until  she 
was  strongly  convinced  that  he  was  alive 
and  not  dead. 

Springtime  came  and  everybody  in  town 
had  recovered  from  the  habit  of  saying  that 
Eddie  Ten  Eyck  looked  "run  down  at  the 
heel"  and  "going  to  seed  in  a  hurry."  He 
was  no  more  the  gay,  debonnair,  inconse- 
quent club  man  and  beau;  he  no  longer 
prided  himself  on  his  personal  appearance 
or  his  habits.  He  slouched  about  with  an 
untidy  air,  a  pathetic  droop  to  his  mouth; 
a  longing,  faraway  look  grew  in  his  eyes. 

At  last,  people  began  to  notice  that  he  was 

forever  figuring  on  the  backs  of  envelopes 

or   on   the   edges   of   newspapers.     No   one 

knew  just  what  the  figures  meant,  but  they 

39 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

always  represented  sums  in  multiplication. 
Now  and  then  an  observer  picked  up  a  mag- 
azine to  find  that  the  calculator  had  changed 
to  problems  in  subtraction.  Once  in  awhile 
he  resorted  to  addition.  It  was  noted,  how- 
ever, that  the  numerals,  one,  nine,  two  and 
a  cipher,  had  something  to  do  with  each  and 
every  calculation.  General  Gamble  could 
have  solved  the  mystery,  but  did  not.  In 
his  heart  the  old  man  feared  that  Eddie 
would  run  away  or  die,  either  of  which  might 
mean  the  return  of  Martha  to  the  Gamble 
mansion  as  a  temporary  if  not  a  permanent 
guest. 

He  met  his  son-in-law  frequently  and  was 
ever  conscious  of  a  baleful  gleam  in  the 
young  man's  eye.  He  felt  that  that  gaze 
was  upon  him  no  matter  where  he  turned; 
it  was  an  ardent,  searchful  look  that  seemed 
to  question  the  longevity  of  life  as  it  applied 
to  himself.  After  such  meetings,  the  gen- 
40 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

eral  surveyed  himself  in  the  mirror  with  no 
little  misgiving,  always  to  find  himself  look- 
ing better  and  healthier  and  happier  than 
ever.  In  spite  of  himself,  however — be  it 
said  to  his  credit — he  nurtured  a  growing 
pity  in  his  heart  for  the  luckless  bargainer 
whose  only  relief  lay  in  the  death  of  his 
father-in-law. 

"General,"  said  Eddie  one  day,  "have  you 
seen  Martha  lately?" 

"Oh,  yes.     She's  looking  remarkably  well, 
isn't  she?" 

"Do  you  know  what  she  weighs  at  pres- 
ent?" 

"Of  course,  not.     She  took  the  scales  over 
to  your  house." 

"Day  before  yesterday  she  weighed  298 
pounds.     It's  an  infernal  outrage!" 

He  dropped  his  chin  into  his  hands  de- 
jectedly and  swore. 

"By  Jove,  she  is  doing  well." 
41 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

"She  scarcely  can  walk.  If  she  keeps  on 
she  won't  be  able  to  .see,  either — her  face  is 
so  infernal  fat.  I  screwed  up  my  nerve  and 
took  a  good  long  look  to-day.  She's  lost  her 
neck  completely." 

"Hang  it,  Eddie,  I  do  feel  sorry  for  you," 
cried  the  general,  his  heart  touched. 

"General,"  sniffed  Eddie,  "I  sit  down 
sometimes  and  actually  watch  her  grow. 
You  can  see  it  if  you  look  steadily  for  a 
given  time." 

The  two  sat  silent  and  depressed  for  many 
minutes,  gazing  into  their  glasses.  Eddie 
stole  a  sly  glance  at  the  general's  ruddy  face. 

"You're  a  remarkably  —  er  —  well-pre- 
served man,  General,"  he  ventured  hesi- 
tatingly. "Do  you  mind  telling  me  your 
age?" 

"I'm  seventy-one,  my  boy,  if  that's  any 
encouragement  to  you,"  responded  General 
Gamble  solemnly. 

42 


"You  look  good  for  ten  years  more,"  mur- 
mured Eddie. 

'Tm  a  little  afraid  of  heart  disease,"  pre- 
varicated the  General  magnanimously.  Ed- 
die did  not  look  up,  but  his  eyes  blinked  hope- 
fully. "It's  in  the  family,  you  know." 

"Martha  isn't— er — isn't — " 

"Isn't  what,  my  boy?" 

"I  was  just  thinking  that  she's  only  your 
step-daughter.  I  was  worried  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

Later  in  the  Autumn,  Eddie  confided  to 
his  father-in-law  that  Martha  was  tipping 
the  beam  at  314  pounds  and  three  ounces 
and  increasing  daily.  His  dejection  had  at 
last  developed  into  a  wail.  He  poured  his 
resentment  into  the  general's  ears  and,  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  went  so  far  as 
to  express  the  hope  that  the  old  man  soon 
would  die. 

"Now,  Eddie,  don't  talk  like  that.     I've 

43 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

about  made  up  my  mind  to  do  the  right  thing 
by  you  and  Martha.  I'm  thinking  of  giving 
her  a  nice  allowance  for  clothing  and  so 
forth—" 

"Great  Scott,  man;  I  need  clothes  more 
than  she  does.  Look  at  me!  Look  at  the 
frayed  edges  and  see  how  I  shine  in  the 
back.  There's  a  patch  or  two  you  can't  see. 
I  put  'em  on  myself.  Martha's  so  con- 
founded fat  she  can't  hold  a  needle  and  be- 
sides that  she  hasn't  any  lap  to  sew  in.  I'm 
growing  a  beard,  too.  I  don't  want  a  hair- 
cut— I'll  never  need  it  again.  Wait  a  min- 
ute. I  just  want  to  show  you  some  figures." 

He  jerked  out  his  pencil  and  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning  multiplied,  added  and 
subtracted.  "She's  worth  $72,403.20  to-day. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  The  day  of 
the  wedding  she  weighed  in  at  $16,972.80. 
See  what  I  mean  ?  She's  bulling  the  market 
and  I  can't  realize  a  dollar  on  her.  She's 
44 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

gone  up  $55,43040  in  less  than  a  year.  Suf- 
fering Isaac!  Why  couldn't  she  have 
weighed  that  much  a  year  ago?"  He  was 
so  furious  that  he  chopped  his  words  off  until 
they  sounded  like  the  barking  of  a  dog. 

The  general  moved  back  in  alarm. 

"Eddie,"  he  cried,  "Martha  will  be  a 
mighty  rich  woman  some  day — when  I  die." 

"Yes,  but  curse  the  luck,  don't  you  see 
that  she's  getting  so  blamed  fat  she's  liable 
to  tip  over  herself  and  die  any  day?  Then 
where  would  I  come  in?" 

"By  Jove,  you're  a  mercenary  wretch," 
exclaimed  the  general,  stamping  the  floor 
angrily. 

"Well,  you'd  be  sore,  too,  if  it  had  hap- 
pened to  you,"  shouted  Eddie.  "I'm  going 
to  skip  out.  I  can't  stand  it  a  day  longer." 

The  general  turned  pale. 

"Don't  do  that!"  he  roared.  "I— I  think 
we  can  adjust  matters.  You  desire  relief, 
45 


HER  WEIGHT  IN  GOLD 

my  boy.  I'm  not  the  man  to  go  back  on 
you.  I'm  a  just  man.  Can  you  come  over 
to  the  house  this  evening?  Alone?" 

"I  should  say  I  can !"  gasped  Eddie,  grow- 
ing two  inches  taller  in  an  instant.  After 
a  moment  he  added  with  a  wry  grin: 
"Alone?  If  you  ever  expect  to  see  Martha, 
you'll  have  to  come  to  my  house.  Remember 
that  saying  about  Mahomet?" 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE 
DEAD 


upon  a  time  there  was  a  city 
called  New  York.  This  sounds  doubly 
satirical  when  one  stops  to  consider  that  it 
seems  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday,  that 
a  great,  proud,  dominant  city  spread  its 
plumage  over  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson,  and 
stared  out  upon  the  snarling  Atlantic,  scorn- 
ing the  vast  waste  that  lay  at  its  back  door  — 
the  rest  of  the  nation  and  its  envious  millions. 
One  hardly  can  believe  that  New  York  has 
been  so  easily  forgotten  ;  that  its  millennium 
came  and  passed  the  rest  of  us  by  without 
leaving  an.  endless  horror  in  our  minds. 
But,  of  little  consequence,  after  all,  was  this 
49 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

wonderful  metropolis  in  those  whirling, 
struggling  times,  astounding  as  the  assertion 
may  appear  upon  reflection.  It  is  not  diffi- 
cult to  look  back  ten  years  and  recall  our 
envy,  our  admiration,  our  glory,  our  awe 
when  we  touched  the  pulse  of  the  living  New 
York  and  felt  therein  what  we  were  led  to 
believe  was  the  throbbing  of  the  whole  uni- 
verse. 

For  a  few  weeks  after  that  strange,  dread- 
ful morning  in  1947,  the  rest  of  the  world 
groaned  with  horror  and  unbelief.  Then 
followed  the  mawkish  efforts  of  the  scien- 
tists to  explain  the  phenomena ;  then  months 
of  magazine  solution  by  eminent  writers 
from  the  middle  west;  then  the  uplifting  of 
countless  religious  prophets  who  had  at  one 
time  or  another  foretold  the  destruction  of 
New  York;  then  the  vague  realization  that 
the  pulse  of  the  land  had  not  ceased  beating 
— a  sense  which  grew  and  grew  until  the 
50 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

populace  laughed  joyously  to  itself  and  mum- 
bled its  thanksgiving,  first  timidly,  then  with 
raucous  confidence.  It  was  not  until  the  end 
of  a  full  year,  however,  that  the  nation  saw 
how  idle  had  been  its  fears;  what  had  at 
first  seemed  a  gigantic  blow  at  the  vitals 
of  the  country  proved  to  be  a  mere  scratch 
upon  the  surface — a  scratch  that  healed  with 
amazing  speed  and  left  no  scar.  The  sun 
did  not  stop  nor  did  Time  pause  for  a  single 
second ;  the  world  went  on  and  the  land  gave 
forth  its  goods  with  undiminished  ardor. 
And  the  wealth  of  the  country  rolled  back 
from  the  seashore  to  the  great  cities  of  the 
West — a  tidal  wave  of  gold! 

We  remember  the  burning  of  Rome, 
though  it  happened  centuries  before  we  were 
born,  far  better  than  we  recall  the  passing 
of  New  York  scarce  ten  years  ago.  A  Rome 
still  stands  in  monumental  splendor,  to  keep 
the  world  from  forgetting;  there  still  re- 
51 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

mains  the  imperishable  shadow  of  Hercula- 
neum,  and  time  cannot  efface  the  sepulchers 
of  Pompeii's  existence.  Alas,  in  these  hard, 
bitter  times  of  ours — this  age  of  steel  and 
gold — New  York  passes  and  we  forget  that 
it  once  was  but  is  not;  a  city  more  or  less, 
a  few  millions  of  people — what  matters? 
Pooh!  This  is  our  attitude:  New  York 
came  too  long  after  Rome.  Besides,  Rome 
was  not — and  is  not — in  the  path  of  the  pres- 
ent. 

To-day  they  are  building  the  new  docks 
and  wharves — great,  stupendous  things — up 
beyond  Spuyten  Duyvil;  the  railroads  come 
up  to  them  from  the  west  and  the  ships  plow 
up  from  the  east.  There  is  no  Manhattan 
Island.  Ocean  traffic  hurries  ceaselessly 
over  the  spot  where  the  stone-crowned  island 
stood,  past  the  deserted,  wrecked  city  of  Har- 
lem, lying  drear  and  foreboding  at  the  head 
of  the  smiling  bay,  up  through  the  broad 
52 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

gates  of  the  Hudson,  with  never  a  thought  of 
the  dead  thing  that  once  lived  in  the  roadway. 
There  are  no  ferries,  there  are  no  tunnels 
or  subways;  there  is  no  use  for  them  now. 
Tugs  and  steamers  ply  the  new  waterway, 
crowding,  hooting,  snarling  as  viciously  as 
ever — thousands  of  them — scurrying  madly 
above  the  thing  that  lies  crushed  and  crum- 
bling in  the  depths  below,  doing  no  homage 
to  its  memory,  spouting  sacrilege  upon  its 
tomb. 

And  the  gulls  come  up  past  Staten  Island 
to  feast  in  the  black  seas  that  sweep  over  the 
Battery  and  gay  Central  Park. 

The  bay  is  three  thousand  fathoms  deep, 
it  is  said,  where  Harlem  used  to  be. 

Brooklyn,  Jersey  City  and  Hoboken  have 
ceased  to  mourn  for  their  lost  mother;  they 
smile  pityingly  and  tell  the  world  that  they 
loved  her  in  spite  of  her  follies  and  weak- 
nesses. But  down  in  their  hearts  they  gloat 

53 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

over  the  heritage  she  tossed  to  them  with 
lavish  hands  in  the  now  forgotten  days,  and 
resent  the  phenomenal  growth  of  Spuyten 
Duyvil  up  the  bay. 

The  nation  points  with  pride  to  the  grand- 
est harbor  in  all  the  world. 

For  nearly  three  centuries  the  dead  of 
New  York  were  content  to  lie  as  humble  dust 
beneath  the  feet  of  the  living.  No  voice 
from  the  grave  was  raised  against  the  en- 
croachments of  the  new  age;  the  earth  itself 
had  trembled  beneath  the  indignities  of  its 
surface  for  years  and  years  and  had  slunk 
back,  whipped  and  cowed,  "Earth  to  earth 
and  dust  to  dust"  had  been  the  mournful 
cry :  there  was  none  to  moan  a  protest  in  all 
those  ugly  years.  The  dust  of  their  fore- 
fathers was  ground  beneath  the  feet  of  am- 
bitious, callous  citizens  of  the  busy  metrop- 
olis with  never  a  twinge  of  contrition.  No 
54 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

one  was  remembering  the  dead — the  forgot- 
ten, once  honored  dead. 

From  the  days  when  Verrazano  first  sailed 
into  the  harbor,  back  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, up  to  the  middle  of  the  twentieth,  the 
dead  endured  the  living  because  there  once 
had  been  such  a  thing  as  love.  Forbear- 
ance ended  when  at  last  the  dead  awoke  and 
drew  back  amazed  from  the  kicks  and  blows 
of  the  living.  The  dust  of  a  man  who  had 
been  with  Peter  Minuit  when  he  bought 
Manhattan  Island  from  the  Indians  for  sixty 
guilders,  cut  off  the  shackles  of  silence  and 
groaned  in  the  misery  of  realization.  That 
groan  echoed  from  one  end  of  the  island 
to  the  other  and  from  side  to  side,  far  down 
into  .the  bowels  of  the  earth ;  for  there  were 
ancient  dead  who  had  been  driven  to  end- 
less depths  by  the  city's  ruthless  builders. 
The  dead  turned  and  hearkened  and  shud- 
dered mightily. 

5J 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

"Is  it  the  resurrection  ?"  quavered  the  first 
voice  of  all,  thin,  high,  bewildered. 

"No,"  came  back  harshly  through  the 
creaking  earth.  "The  judgment  day  could 
not  disturb  us  as  we  are  being  disturbed 
to-day.  'Rest  in  peace/  it  said  on  my  grave- 
stone. The  irony  of  that!" 

From  that  day,  the  shudder  of  pain  and 
resentment  grew  in  the  earth  beneath  the 
tugging  metropolis  of  the  western  world. 
The  underworld,  to  which  the  dust  of 
Gotham's  forefathers  had  returned,  shook 
with  indignation.  Resentment  developed 
into  rage,  and  rage  clamored  for  vengeance. 

Husbands  and  wives,  mothers  and  chil- 
dren, fathers,  lovers,  whose  dust  had  been 
scattered  by  the  grinding,  disdainful  upper 
world,  or  tossed  carelessly  into  the  scows 
and  sent  out  to  sea,  moaned  in  protest  at 
last,  and  in  moaning  found  voice  to  send  the 
rumble  of  discontent  throughout  the  narrow, 

56 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

Christless  island.  Rebellion  took  hold  upon 
them,  rebellion  against  the  tyranny  of  the 
usurpers.  From  the  black  waters  of  the  bay 
came  cries  of  the  awakening;  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  steel-bound  tunnels  and  from  be- 
neath the  ponderous  walls  of  office  buildings 
came  the  wails  of  the  despised  founders  of 
New  York.  The  shouts  of  massacred  In- 
dians mingled  with  the  lamentations  of 
gentle  women  who  had  seen  the  city  in  its 
fairest  days  of  honor.  And,  in  the  end,  a 
gigantic,  mighty  hand  of  revolt  was  raised 
against  the  city  that  bore  down  upon  the 
dust  of  its  dead — a  hand  that,  in  all  time, 
had  never  been  lifted  before. 

The  inert  mass  of  earth  took  shape — a 
million  shapes,  in  truth — and  the  groveling 
gave  place  to  solemn  defiance.  Down  into 
the  vast  caverns  at  the  center  of  the  earth 
filtered  the  dust  of  a  million  beings — drawn 
there  by  common  impulse.  Once  again  the 

57 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

dead  took  back  the  form  of  the  living — the 
living  of  three  centuries.  The  caverns 
swarmed  with  a  mighty  congregation — an 
army  with  only  outraged  pride  as  its  arma- 
ment. 

Shape  after  shape  grew  up  from  the  for- 
saken dust  of  centuries — stark,  nude  things 
of  clay,  somber  hued  and  grim.  Up  from 
the  bay,  in  response  to  the  call,  came  the 
black  slime  of  desecrated  ancestors — the  once 
flesh.  No  hand  was  raised  to  quell  the 
tumult;  no  voice  called  out  "Peace!"  For, 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  peace  beneath 
the  crust  of  Manhattan  Island. 

Pioneer,  statesman,  soldier,  millionaire, 
pauper,  gentlewoman,  courtesan,  products  of 
a  common  soil,  filled  the  caverns  of  the  earth 
with  their  lamentations. 

"We  have  endured  too  long — too  long!" 
was  the  great,  thrilling  cry. 

58 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

"Judgment!"  welled  from  countless  lips  of 
clay. 

In  the  nave  of  the  earth's  cathedral,  a 
mighty  figure  called  out  to  the  clamoring 
hosts.  Every  face  was  turned  toward  the 
father  of  New  York — the  first  of  all  the  dead. 

"Hark  ye !"  was  his  cry.  "We  are  driven 
here  by  the  assaults  of  our  sons  and  daugh- 
ters. There  is  no  peace  on  earth!  Have 
we  no  recompense  ?  Are  we  more  meek  and 
lowly  than  the  Pagan  of  other  lands  and 
other  times  ?  Look  ye !  There  is  not  a  year 
goes  by  that  does  not  give  record  of  the 
wrath  that  marks  the  vengeance  of  our 
Pagan  dead.  In  far-off  Asia  the  earth  trem- 
bles with  their  final  displeasure,  and  cities 
fall  to  ruin  in  a  night ;  in  every  corner  of  the 
earth  the  people  of  the  underworld  have  man- 
ifested their  disapproval  in  one  form  or  an- 
other. The  earth  has  been  split  and  shaken. 

59 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

Its  crust"  has  been  shattered  and  its  fires  have 
been  thrown  out  to  create  havoc  and  death 
among  the  defilers.  Its  soil  has  more  than 
once  turned  against  its  tillers.  There  has 
been  famine  and  flood  from  time  immemorial. 
Who  has  done  all  of  these  things?  WTho 
has  inspired  all  of  these  righteous  calami- 
ties? Speak!" 

From  every  corner  of  the  vast  caverns 
came  back  the  wild  shout: 

"The  world's  despised  Dead!" 

"Earth  to  earth!"  thundered  the  despised 
dead  of  old  New  York.  From  afar  off  in 
the  remotest  nook  came  the  cry  of  a  single 
intruder. 

"There  was  a  place  called  San  Fran- 
cisco— "  but  a  wild  laugh  cut  short  the  sen- 
tence. 

"They  have  driven  us  from  the  graves 
that  once  we  thought  were  hallowed.  The 
cherished  green  beneath  which  we  were  to 
60 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

have  slept  until  the  judgment  day,  has  been 
uprooted  and  despoiled.  Our  bones  have 
been  jostled  from  one  end  of  our  dear  island 
to  the  other.  They  lie  in  rank  confusion, 
unmarked,  uncherished.  They  have  been 
scattered  by  the  ruthless  hands  of  our  chil- 
dren. Those  who  are  young  among  us  tell 
of  the  deeds  of  the  living.  They  are  forcing 
their  way  to  the  very  heart  of  the  little  island 
that  once  was  our  home — where  we  lived 
and  died.  And  now,  at  last,  they  have 
aroused  us  from  the  sleep  we  suffered  for 
and  earned.  They  have  awakened  their 
dead!  How  shall  we  repay  them?  First, 
let  the  founders  and  builders  of  New  York 
speak.  Let  us  hear  from  the  men  who  were 
honest  in  their  building." 

The  passionless  voice  of  a  great  magistrate 
answered  the  father  of  New  York:     "There 
are  among  us  thousands  who  have  been  re- 
stored to  their  mother  earth  in  recent  years. 
61 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

They  come  from  the  class  which  now  holds 
sway  in  land  of  life.  What  have  they  to 
say?" 

"We  see  the  justice  of  these  deliberations," 
spoke  up  a  fresh  voice,  "although  we  cannot 
presume  to  enter  into  them.  Our  bones,  for 
the  time  being,  lie  in  honored  graves;  en- 
croaching avarice  has  not  laid  its  grasp  upon 
our  resting  places.  Time  may  treat  us  as 
you  have  been  treated.  Therefore  we  sub- 
mit ourselves  to  the  will  of  the  forgotten  and 
the  outraged.  What  ye  may  propose,  we 
stand  ready  to  abide  by,  for  there  are  but 
few,  even  among  us,  who  are  not  forgotten." 

"Let  us  name  a  council  of  ten,"  began  a 
deep  voice,  only  to  be  checked  by  the  clear, 
sweet  words  of  one  who  in  her  lifetime  had 
been  the  merriest  belle  of  Old  New  York — 
one  whose  name,  at  least,  has  not  been  for- 
gotten. 

"Nay,  gentlemen,"  she  said;  "I  prithee 
62 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

observe  moderation  in  all  that  ye  may  do. 
Remember,  there  are  the  poor  and  the  help- 
less and  the  innocent  to  consider.  Our  dear 
city  is  not  peopled  alone  by  the  godless  and 
the  avaricious.  Even  in  my  day,  there  were 
poltroons  and  cowards,  and  they  are  num- 
bered among  us  here.  What  are  we  that  we 
should  judge  our  sons  and  daughters?" 

"Dear  mistress,"  sighed  the  patriarch, 
"thou  art  a  woman  and  mistake  pity  for  jus- 
tice. The  vice  we  may  have  possessed  has 
been  left  behind,  a  heritage  to  the  living ;  the 
good  that  was  in  us  was  also  given  down  to 
our  fleshly  heirs.  It  was  for  them  to  choose. 
They  have  cast  aside  the  good  that  we  be- 
queathed and  have  thrived  upon  the  bad. 
They  began  the  bad  where  we  left  off.  They 
have  forgotten  God  as  well  as  their  fore- 
fathers. You  are  right,  however.  We  are 
not  to  judge  them.  They  can  only  be  judged 
after  death  comes  to  them — death  the  leveler 

63 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

of  all  things.  It  is  not  the  souls  that  we 
would  punish,  but  the  sordid  flesh — the  thing 
which  must  one  day  become  as  we  are  now, 
deserted  by  the  soul  until  the  great  day  of 
rejoicing  when  all  will  be  reclaimed.  But 
it  is  with  the  present  that  we  have  to  do. 
We  have  lain  sluggish  and  inactive  while 
other  communities  have  lifted  themselves  in 
wrath.  Our  time  has  come.  We  can  rest 
no  longer.  Your  plea  is  fruitless.  New 
York  may  have  its  poor,  I  grant,  but  in  this 
day  it  has  no  innocents." 

"I  submit,"  she  replied,  convinced.  "I 
thought  only  of  my  own  day." 

"Let  us  pause  to  reflect,"  protested  an- 
other voice.  "Is  it  true  that  our  own  de- 
scendants are  guilty  of  all  this  sacrilege? 
We  forget  that  New  York  is  made  up  of 
an  alien  class  to-day:  the  vulgar  rich  from 
the  far  West,  the  wretched  foreigner,  the — " 

"Enough!"  cried  the  patriarch.  "It  is 
64 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

against  the  New  York  of  to-day  that  we  lift 
our  hand,  no  matter  where  its  millions  may 
have  been  born.  Attend  me,  one  and  all. 
Is  there  one  dissenting  voice  to  be  lifted 
against  our  revolt,  no  matter  how  grave  the 
consequences  ?" 

There  was  not  a  voice  raised  in  dissent. 

"Then,  what  is  the  further  pleasure  of  the 
dead?"  called  out  the  strong  voice  of  the 
leader. 

"Retribution!"  rang  in  mighty  chorus 
through  the  somber  caverns.  "Retribu- 
tion!" 

"We  have  turned  our  hand  against  our 
earthly  home,  as  others  have  done  before 
us.  Shall  the  earth  quake  and  split  with 
our  wrath?  Shall  the  sea  be  driven  up  to 
sweep  the  city  to  destruction?  Shall  we 
breed  pestilence?  Speak!" 

"Let  a  council  decide,"  shouted  one. 
"Name  one  from  each  generation  that  has 

65 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

passed  since  New  York  began,  and  give  over 
to  them  the  power  to  devise.  We  will  abide 
by  their  designs." 

"There  is  no  to-morrow  here,  my  friends. 
It  is  always  to-day.  What  we  have  to  do 
must  be  done  to-day.  Go  your  ways  for  the 
present.  In  due  time  I  shall  have  chosen  the 
council,  one  for  each  generation." 

With  shouts  and  cries,  the  drab  multitude 
scattered  throughout  the  vast  corridors  of 
the  earth,  below  New  York,  patient,  im- 
placable, as  pitiless  as  the  earth  to  which  they 
had  returned  after  a  brief  day  in  the  flesh 
of  life. 

Slowly,  inevitably,  the  great  design  of  the 
underworld  began  to  shape  itself  into  the 
vague  conceptions  of  what  the  end  would 
bring  to  the  vice-ridden,  purse-proud,  con- 
scienceless city  of  New  Sodom.  The  sun- 
less center  of  the  earth  creaked  and  groaned 
66 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

under  the  mighty  changes  that  were  being 
wrought  by  the  unhallowed  dust  that  shrank 
down  into  crevasses  as  if  in  dire  terror  of 
the  cruel  monsters  which  battled  ceaselessly 
to  extend  dominion  below  the  surface. 
Human,  living  progress,  regardless  but  not 
ignorant  of  the  laws  of  nature,  continued  to 
bore  its  way  into  the  home  of  the  dead,  sink- 
ing its  crowded  cellars  of  industry  and  greed 
into  the  very  heart  of  the  world.  Mortal 
hell  crept  down  through  the  crust  of  stone  to 
link  its  grasp  with  the  hell  of  scriptural  tra- 
dition; the  shafts  of  commerce  opened  up  the 
way  through  soil  and  stone,  and  living  hu- 
manity swarmed  downward  to  toil  and  breath 
and  curse  beside  the  resting  places  of  the 
dead  with  the  same  sordid,  merciless  avarice 
that  sent  those  self-same  shafts  of  stone  and 
steel  and  mortar  cloudward  in  Godless  pur- 
suit of  wealth  and  ribaldry.  The  living  lived 
for  the  praise  of  their  own  possessions ;  they 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

had  learned  to  dwell  in  the  haunts  of  their 
own  unbridled  lust  of  self.  They  growled 
and  fought  and  sinned  for  the  tiniest  pinch 
of  gold,  for  the  minutest  atom  of  power; 
they  sacrificed  love  and  honor  and  peace  in 
the  struggle  to  win  the  smiles  of  one  capri- 
cious moment  of  Time ;  they  maimed  and  tor- 
tured and  destroyed  all  semblance  of  feeling 
that  might  have  made  that  moment  sweet; 
they  saw  only  the  conquering  plumes  of  the 
present  ignoring  the  vast,  silent  host  that 
bivouacked  at  their  very  doors  while  the 
future  came  marching  up  to  swell  the  irre- 
trievable past. 

The  men  who  burrowed  deeper  and  deeper 
into  the  earth  to  which  they  were  so  rapidly 
returning,  gave  no  thought  to  the  grave  they 
were  digging;  they  felt  no  tremor  of  premo- 
nition, they  heard  no  rumble  of  disaster. 
They  dug  and  bored  and  blasted  their  impi- 
ous way  into  the  precincts  that  belonged  to 
68 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

the  dead;  life  had  never  been  felt  before  in 
the  region  to  which  their  greed  was  carrying 
them.  Only  the  dead  had  dwelt  there  in 
peace  and  solitude,  undented,  unrevered,  un- 
solvable.  Covetous  hands  scooped  out  the 
path  which  led  ambitious  feet  into  the  depths 
of  a  monstrous  grave ;  gleeful,  glittering  eyes 
looked  down  into  the  tomb  those  unsuspecting 
hands  were  digging,  with  never  a  thought 
of  the  bitter  price  the  living  was  to  pay  to 
the  dead  they  had  kicked  aside  in  the  down- 
ward march  of  Progress. 

And  all  the  while  that  Life  was  pushing 
its  ruthless  path  through  the  land  of  the 
dead,  Death  was  eating  its  way  up  to  meet 
the  trespassers  in  the  great,  malevolent  day 
of  reckoning.  New  York  drove  its  domain 
farther  and  farther  into  the  dark  world;  just 
as  energetically,  a  vast,  dead  army  sapped 
and  mined  and  hollowed  out  the  pit  which 
was  to  be  the  sepulcher  of  Vanity. 

69 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

It  was  a  gay  New  York.  Rich,  proud, 
frivolous  and  not  enduring.  Its  millions 
toiled  by  day  and  reveled  by  night;  they 
grasped  the  wealth  of  a  universe  and  spent 
it  in  the  selfish  delights  of  personal  elevation. 
The  body  and  the  brain  reaped  the  harvest 
of  a  golden  sowing;  the  soul  stood  afar  off 
and  hungered.  There  were  years  of  famine 
for  the  soul;  the  flesh  was  spending  riotous 
decades  where  Time  had  allotted  years,  no 
more.  New  York  was  merry  and  light  and 
soulless  in  those  last  few  months  and  weeks 
of  its  existence.  The  gems  and  precious 
baubles  of  a  wide  world  came  there  to  bedeck 
its  wondrous  women ;  they  gleamed  and  spun 
and  shivered  in  the  race  that  their  wearers 
ran  round  the  track  of  Time.  It  was  the 
last,  the  final  pageant  of  worldly  strife:  a 
beautiful,  gorgeous  conflict  of  life  against 
death.  Fast  and  furious  was  the  pace;  the 
rest  of  the  world  was  left  far  behind  to  look 
70 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

on  in  hopeless,  envious  wonder.  There  was 
no  glory  in  Nero's  simple  day  that  could  have 
shone  so  brightly;  there  was  no  Solomon  to 
conceive  things  so  fair  as  these. 

The  greatest,  richest,  most  beautiful  city 
the  world  has  ever  known!  Here  was  the 
home  of  Midas  and  the  tents  of  Momus,  the 
playground  of  Bacchus  and  the  scented  rest- 
ing-place of  Aphrodite!  The  gods  were 
showing  their  teeth  in  the  grin  derisive  and 
gay  New  York  thought  it  was  a  smile  of 
approval.  Gentile  and  Jew,  Pagan  and 
Puritan,  the  rich  man  and  Lazarus — all,  all 
knelt  at  the  common  shrine  and  lifted  praise 
to  Mammon.  It  was  in  the  air — it  was  in 
the  blood — it  was  in  the  heart  of  life !  The 
hosannas  were  shrieks  of  voluptuous  joy,  no 
more,  no  less.  God  was  forgotten;  Christ 
was  banished;  there  was  no  choice  of  the 
Holy  Ghost. 

The  only  Trinity  that  New  York  knew  in 

71 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

those  racking  days,  stood  meek  and  shamed 
between  lofty  sky  scrapers  at  the  head  of 
Wall  Street.  There  were  no  gravestones. 

Luxury  was  the  slave  of  Vanity,  pleasure 
the  guide  to  vice.  Men  and  women  ex- 
changed their  eternal  souls  for  a  brief  in- 
stant of  power ;  they  traded  and  trafficked  in 
the  values  of  love,  in  the  profits  of  honor,  in 
the  commodities  of  friendship.  Each  man 
and  woman,  poor  or  rich,  sought  to  thrive 
.only  by  plunder — plunder  in  gold  or  virtue, 
in  squalor  or  in  affluence,  in  life  or  in  death. 

The  day  of  reckoning  was  at  hand! 

In  the  caverns  of  the  earth  a  mighty  exo- 
dus was  under  way.  The  dust  of  those  who 
had  slept  unvenerated  for  years  took  shape 
under  the  influence  of  wrath.  In  the  coun- 
cils of  the  dead  there  was  no  idle  minority. 
A  vast,  solemn  body  of  earth-like  shapes  had 
set  to  work  to  toll  the  hour  of  oblivion. 
There  was  no  class  distinction.  They  were 
72 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

of  a  common  soil.  The  grave  had  been  the 
leveler.  No  bit  of  clay  was  richer  than  the 
next.  Gold  was  not  in  one  and  dross  in  the 
other.  They  were  the  dead  things  that  had 
been  buried  side  by  side  and  forgotten.  They 
had  come  back  to  be  a  part  of  nature  once 
more — a  part  of  the  earth  unchangeable  and 
chaste. 

Slowly,  with  bitter  tools,  this  great  force 
of  nature  wrought  the  changes  which  were 
to  destroy  every  vestige  of  that  gorgeous 
city  of  sham  and  craft. 

There  was  no  day  nor  was  there  night  for 
these  sullen  toilers  of  the  underworld;  there 
was  no  hour  for  rest.  The  right  to  sleep 
and  rest  had  been  abolished  by  mortal  man- 
date. Into  the  very  center  of  the  earth, 
through  vast  crevasses  and  endless  pits,  the 
foundations  of  Manhattan  Island  were 
swiftly  conveyed;  where  once  had  been  a 
solid,  firm  support  to  the  surface  of  the  nar- 

73 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

row  island  of  stone,  there  now  yawned  a 
stupendous  cavern,  rumbling  with  the  thun- 
ders of  a  shifting  earth,  shrieking  with  the 
winds  of  faraway  volcanoes,  hissing  with 
the  waters  of  the  sea  that  filtered  in  through 
suddenly  discovered  crannies.  The  toiling 
army  of  clay  pushed  its  way  farther  and 
farther  into  the  heart  of  the  globe;  each 
hour  saw  the  scaling  off  of  millions  of  tons 
of  earth  from  the  dome  of  the  great  cavern 
and  each  hour  narrowed  the  base  on  which 
New  York  was  standing  so  imperiously. 
The  Toilers,  once  the  Quick  of  old  New 
York,  sang  at  their  work — requiems  that 
might  have  reached  through  the  thinning 
roof  of  the  vast  cathedral  to  the  ears  of  those 
who  perched  outside  had  not  the  clangor  of 
conceit  dulled  the  senses  of  the  doomed  mil- 
lions. 

At  last  the  earth  had  been  sloughed  away 
until  but  a  shallow  crust  remained.     Man- 
74 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

hattan  Island  hung  suspended,  as  it  were, 
by  the  merest  thread,  over  an  abyss  so  deep 
and  terrifying  that  human  mind  cannot  grasp 
its  enormity.  Between  the  roof  and  the 
floor  of  this  appalling  gap  in  the  earth  inter- 
vened a  full  league  of  space — space  filled 
with  dank,  foul  winds,  hot  with  the  gases 
from  the  bowels  of  the  world.  Already  the 
sea  was  rushing  down  into  these  new-made 
depths,  roaring  with  the  delight  of  a  dis- 
coverer. Slowly  the  workers  in  this  stu- 
pendous undertaking  slunk  back  into  the  mud 
and  slime  of  their  own  making  and  waited 
for  the  fall  of  gay  New  York.  The  time 
had  come. 

A  man  from  the  Barge  Office,  far  down 
the  Bau,  found  himself  staring  with  unbe- 
lieving eyes  at  a  bit  of  masonry  in  the  ex- 
treme outer  rim  of  Battery  Park.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again.  Either 
75 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

he  was  going  stark  mad,  or  that  stretch  of 
masonry  was  sinking  into  the  bay — slowly, 
it  is  true,  but  unmistakably.  Even  as  he 
turned  to  shout  to  a  companion  who  was 
abroad  with  him  at  this  early  morning  hour, 
the  deck  on  which  he  stood  began  to  shake 
as  with  the  ague.  He  heard  the  roar  of  a 
million  giant  guns  and — 

There  was  no  time  for  preparation,  there 
was  no  warning.  In  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  the  vast  pile  of  masonry  that  had  come 
to  be  called  New  York  shot  downward  and 
went  crumbling,  crashing,  rattling,  jangling 
into  oblivion  so  utter  that  the  mind  cannot 
comprehend  its  bounds.  No  man  cried  out 
in  terror.  Fear  gripped  their  hearts  and 
paralyzed  them.  Stupefaction  held  every 
tongue  until  the  fall  was  well  begun.  Then 
as  the  sea  rushed  in  to  fill  the  vent,  a  million 
shrieks  gurgled  up  through  the  foam.  A 
million  voices  screamed  a  name  they  had  not 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

uttered  save  in  blasphemy  and  derision  in 
forty  years  or  more. 

"Oh,  God!"  A  brief  prayer  to  an  aban- 
doned Hope! 

Every  living  thing  that  dwelt  on  the  rock- 
built  surface  of  Manhattan  Island,  from  the 
Battery  to  the  Harlem  went  down  in  the 
maelstrom,  never  to  rise  again.  The  whole 
world  groaned  and  shook,  jarred  to  its  far- 
thest ends  by  the  lofty  fall  of  a  granite 
Empire.  An  earthquake  such  as  the  world 
had  never  known  before  caused  the  land  to 
tremble  in  the  extremity  of  convulsion. 
The  Hudson  and  the  glad  Atlantic  rushed 
into  the  yawning  gulf  and  covered  the  grave 
of  Gay  New  York,  with  a  noise  that  rever- 
berated to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  A  blackish 
green  plain  of  rolling  water  swept  up  to  the 
shattered  bank  of  the  Harlem  and  churned 
itself  into  a  fury  because  it  could  go  no 
farther. 

77 


THE  WRATH  OF  THE  DEAD 

Shuddering  cities  that  had  called  New 
York  mother  glared  horror-struck  out  upon 
this  new  sea  and  forgot  in  their  terror  to 
grieve  for  the  thing  that  had  fed  them  from 
childhood.  She  was  gone!  The  swirling 
sea  sat  there,  bereft  of  life,  untouched  by 
commerce.  Every  craft  that  sailed  the  river 
on  that  eventful  morn  was  sucked  down  in 
the  rush  of  devastation — not  a  spar,  not  a 
sail,  not  a  pennant  showed  above  the  surface 
of  the  strange,  unknown  sea  that  was  the 
shroud  of  Manhattan  Island. 

The  bay  is  three  thousand  fathoms  deep 
•where  the  Harlem  used  to  be. 


THE   END 


DATE  DUE 


1904 


£-1  IT    I  1711 


McCutcneon,  George  Barr, 

1866-1928. 
Her  weight  in  gold. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  258  423   1 


3  121000437  3641 


